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I 


THE GARLAND OF DELIGHT 











The Garland of Delight 

By 

SEVERAL FRIENDLY HANDS 
S PROLOGUE 

By 

KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN 


DRAWINGS AND COVER DESIGN 


BY CAROL CONTENT EDWARDS 



4 


PRIVATELY PRINTED FOR 
GEORGE THORNTON EDWARDS 
UNDERWOOD SPRINGS, MAINE 
JUNE 

MDCCCCXII 




COPYRIGHT 1912 
BY GEORGE THORNTON EDWARDS 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 


♦ i 


U 

£ Cl. A 3 1 6 8 3 4 

■ ^ 


CONTRIBUTORS 

TO 

THE GARLAND OF DELIGHT. 

ALPHABETICALLY ARRANGED. 

Lura E. Aldridge 
James Phinney Baxter 
Frances Swan Brown 
Henry Leland Chapman 
Carol Content Edwards 
George Thornton Edwards 
Charles E. Jackson 
Ella A. Jackson 
Harry Lyman Koopman 
Edith Lowell 
Florence Percy Mclntire 
Clarence Webster Peabody 
Fabius M. Ray 
Laura E. Richards 
Charles Francis Richardson 
Nora Archibald Smith 
Harriet Prescott Spofford 
Kate Douglas Wiggin 






CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 


Prologue 

Kate Douglas Wiggin 

xxi 

The Birth of June 

George Thornton Edwards 

7 

Good Luck 

Henry Leland Chapman 

9 

June 

James Phinney Baxter 

11 

June 

Lura E. Aldridge 

13 

To Dolly 

George Thornton Edwards 

15 

A Birthday 

Charles E. Jackson 

17 

A Thought of June 

Edith Lowell 

19 

June Delight 

Harry Lyman Koopman 

21 

Daughter Delight 

Carol Content Edwards 

25 

From March 30th 1837 to June 16th 1898 



Fabius M. Ray 

27 

A Couplet 

Laura E. Richards 

29 

June Delight 

Florence Percy Mclntire 

31 

To June Delight 

Frances Swan Brown 

33 

To June Delight For Her Garland 



Nora Archibald Smith 

35 

An Acrostic 

George Thornton Edwards 

37 

To a Naiad 

Clarence Webster Peabody 

39 

A Charade 

George Thornton Edwards 

43 

A Birthday 

Harriet Prescott Spofford 

45 

To June 

Ella A. Jackson 

47 

Aeria 

Charles Francis Richardson 

49 

Lines to Delight 

George Thornton Edwards 

51 

Appendix 

vii 

53 









PREFACE. 

When the Reverend H. Daniel of Worcester 
College, Oxford, gathered a garland of verses for his 
baby daughter Rachel, he probably little dreamed that 
his work would be the inspiration for the weaving of an- 
other garland for another maiden, on another continent, 
nearly a quarter of a century thereafter; but as the idea 
of making a compilation of verses to his daughter was 
suggested to Mr. Daniel by seeing a copy of the “Guir- 
lande de Julie,” a collection of some forty-four madrigals 
by the beaux esprits of her day to Madamoiselle Julie 
Lucine d’Angennes de Rambouillet, a famous beauty of 
the seventeenth century, the donor of which was her 
suitor the Due de Montausier, so the thought of The Gar- 
land of Delight had its beginnings in the perusal of a 
copy of The Garland of Rachel which was presented to 
the compiler of this little volume by a publisher of reprints 
several years ago, and to which he here wishes to make 
acknowledgement for the suggestion which resulted in the 
bringing together of the verses contained within these 
covers. 

But while the idea of the Garland of Delight origi- 


IX 


nated as has been set forth, the real inspiration is, of 
course, the maiden in whose honor this Garland has 
been woven. 

The Garland of Delight, however, could never 
have become more than a dream but for the gracious 
acquiescence of its contributors to the requests of its com- 
piler, the results of which are here printed for the first 
time, and for which due appreciation is herewith ex- 
pressed by the parents of the subject of their muse, who 
at the time of going to press, has no hint of what is being 
done in honor of her approaching anniversary. 

Every true literary endeavor is a labor of love, but 
when it is used as the expression of the love which one 
holds toward those who are dearest to him, the words 
themselves have an added significance. Thus the 
gathering of the Garland of Delight has been in every 
sense a labor of love for one whom the compiler holds 
second in regard only to the little wife and mother whose 
devotion and unselfishness have made all things possible 
and to whose true worth he would here pay tribute. 

It is not without some compunction that the com- 
piler has allowed his humble rhymes to be printed 
amidst so beautiful a setting as has been assembled here, 
and though his verses are faulty he is aware of it, but he 


prefers to let them go as they were originally written, 
— some of them nearly fourteen years ago. 

There needs be no apology to the Gentle Reader 
for the publication of this little volume, for when copies 
have been placed in the hands of each of its contributors 
and of June Delight, its object will have been attained. 

A few copies have been placed on sale with the 
two-fold object of defraying the expenses of publication 
and of giving those to whose tastes it may appeal the 
opportunity to enjoy The Garland of Delight, and should 
any profit accrue from this edition the proceeds will be 
devoted to the establishment of a nucleus for a fund for a 
library for the townspeople of Falmouth and Cumberland 
Foresides. 

In acceding to the request of several of those who 
are in the secret, to reproduce in this volume the first 
verses of June Delight which were written by her at the 
age of eleven years, it was found impossible to include 
them in the body of the book without disarranging the 
original plan of the Garland, and these verses will, there- 
fore, be found in the appendix at the back of this volume. 


xi 






“The sweetest garland to the sweetest maid ” 

From a seventeenth century poet. 



TO MY DAUGHTER, JUNE DELIGHT ELISABETH, 
IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD MDCCCCXII 
AND OF HERS THE FOURTEENTH 
HER FATHER AND HER MOTHER AND 
HER FRIENDS 

KNOWN AND UNKNOWN THESE GREETINGS 


: 


> 






































































































PROLOGUE 







PROLOGUE. 


Dear June Delight : — 

Your father and mother gave you a 
name which seems to hold in itself 
a hint of promise and fulfillment. 

When they gave it you they were thinking 
more of their own joy than of your 
worthiness to bear it ; for you were then 
the merest bud, with all your possibilities 
closely folded away, hidden from human vision. 
Now comes your turn, June Delight ! Your 
name calls up remembrances of a summer 
day, — sweet, cool, fresh, serene ; a day 
of waving grass, of fragrant odors, of bird’s 
song, of laughing brook. Out of such a 
day springs Delight, new born! 

Ahead of you stretch the years, from childhood 
to girlhood, from girlhood to womanhood. 

You must be June when the winter storms come, 
Delight when sorrow falls across the threshold. 
Life is a journey! Don’t let Hannah Tubbs 
or Tryphena Wiggs pass you triumphantly on 
the road, your beautiful name draggled and 
dusty. Wear it like a crown, that name, — June 
Delight! 

Kate Douglas Wiggin. 


XXI 



























THE GARLAND OF DELIGHT 



JUNE DELIGHT 
FROM A PAINTING BY 
WALTER RUSSELL 

1904 


i 

































































































































THE BIRTH OF JUNE. 

T HE night had been dark and fraught with pain 
For death and despair then seemed to reign 
But hope and prayer did victory gain. 

The sun’s first rays of a summer’s morn 
Came forth and the birds burst into song 
The moment that June Delight was born. 

Our hearts were filled to breaking quite 
With love for our little one, June Delight ; 

And mine for the mother, so sweet and bright. 

Tears fill our eyes till they seemed to dim, 

Love filled our hearts to the very brim, 

While our souls filled with gratitude to Him ! 

E. 


7 



t 











T 

■ 




GOOD LUCK. 

D OWN in the meadow fragrant and fair, 

Where the bee on the red clover grazes, 
Tossing the curls of her sunlit hair 
From a face as sweet as the daisies, 

A maiden kneels, with prying eyes 
Searching the greensward over, 

Eager to find, for the sake of luck, 

A four-leaved spray of the clover. 

Down in the meadow fragrant and fair, 

Where the bee on the red clover grazes, 
Nestling close from the sun’s broad stare 
Neath buttercups bright and daisies, 

A tiny spray of the clover waits, 

Its four leaves shyly extending, 

Eager to catch, for the sake of luck, 

The eyes that above it are bending. 

Down in the meadow list to the tune 
Which the busy bees are humming, 

They find in the grass the delight of June 
Which seemed so long a-coming ; 

The clover listens, but shrinks from sight, 

For it hears the steps of the maiden, — 

And they bring the real June Delight 

With health and beauty laden. 

Henry L. Chapman. 


9 










JUNE. 

W HERE drowsy willows nod and sigh, 

An angler by a brook doth lie ; 

Upon his hook a painted fly, 

A dream’s soft shadow in his eye : 

Thus like a charmed prince he seems 
Destined a glorious prize to win, 

Which, like a jewelled javelin, 

Poised as in air on quivering fin, 

Before his vision gleams. 

With purest blue the blissful sky 
Pavilions him right royally. 

Sometimes an oriole flames on high ; 

Or bee impetuous sparkles by, 

Or bobolink ecstatic flings 
Bubbles of music on the air : 

And so he gathers void of care, 

The joys of life surpassing rare, 

Like pearls on silken strings. 

James Phinney Baxter. 


11 













> 








JUNE. 

\ CROSS the east the streaks of light appear, 
The soft low whistle of a bird I hear, 

And then the answering call. 

The fragrance of the clover drenched with dew, 
Rests on the waking world anew, 

The senses to enthrall. 

The children loiter on their way to school, 

Careless alike of time or ancient rule, 

So fair the day and bright. 

’Twas made for maidens winsome, fair, and sweet, 
For one whom birds and blossoms love to greet, 
Our “June Delight.’* 

Lura E. Aldridge. 


13 




. 




TO DOLLY. 

O UR baby has the longest name 
You almost ever heard, 

But it’s the sweetest name, 
i guess, 

That ever has occured. 

For short, we call her, “Dolly,” 

For ’twould take away your breath 
To call her every minute, 

“June Delight Elisabeth.” 

E. 


15 











A BIRTHDAY. 

M Y calendar gives thirty days of June, — 

Days, nature sings her merriest, sweetest 
tune. 

By adding all my June’s, — ah, memory last! 

They reach four years, — four years of pleasures past. 

But thou’rt June each day, — June all the year! — 
Perpetual summer doth thyself appear! 

Flower of a home! continued presence bright! 

I greet thee! bless thee! love thee! “June Delight!” 

Charles E. Jackson. 




17 










A THOUGHT OF JUNE. 

E RE Spring’s soft garments vanish o’er the hill top 
Comes restless summer with an airy tune ; 

All Nature pauses, wondering, for a moment, 

And then, remembering, whispers, “It is June.’* 

When over me, as in a crowd I linger, 

Comes oft recurring, like a hunting rune, 

A joyous wonder, subtile and elusive, 

My glad heart whispers softly, “It is June!’’ 

Edith Lowell. 


19 





JUNE DELIGHT. 

E AGER, through windy skies, 

The cold moon rides to-night. 

Already it espies, 

1 ween, its June Delight. 

The grass through melting snows 

Is pricking green and bright. 

Afar, by faith, it knows 

Sunshine and June Delight. 

Amid such wintry scenes 

A voice commands me : Write! 

Glad I obey ; it means 

Youth, joy, and June Delight. 

Harry Lyman Koopman. 


21 




















































# 























































































DAUGHTER DELIGHT. 

I N my house is a garden fair 

Not of roses sweet or of violets rare 
But of children dear, all merrie and bright 
And none is fairer than June-Delight. 

June-Delight, our Delight and our June 
Always Delight night, morning and noon, 

Always June because she is fair, 

Always Delight, like the floweret rare. 

June thou must be tho* the sky is not clear 
June thou must be through chilling blasts drear. 
Delight of our hearts, O daughter mine 
Child of love truly, thou art like the sunshine! 

Darling Delight, like sweet garden flowers 
Brighter thou’lt be because of the showers 
Stronger and better because of the night 
Come shadow or sunshine be June, 

Sweet Delight. 

Carol Content Edwards . 


25 


• • • * ■ • •• ' 



FROM MARCH 30, 1837 TO 
JUNE 16, 1898. 

O H list to the greeting that March sends up, 

On the wings of the winds that ruthlessly wail. 
Of the winter’s wrath that is not yet over. 

Of the winter’s grief still heard in the gale, 

To the gentler month, when the purple-topped clover, 
And the ox-eye daisy and the buttercup. 

And the blue-eyed grasses, coquettishly blinking, 

All render approval to Robert of Lincoln, 

The mad Minnesinger, whose ravishing tune 
Is evermore poured in the rapt ear of June. 

At midnight Puck, the harlequin of fairies. 

Steals cautious forth, and for the moment tarries 
Upon the summit of a cloud, and jingles his bells 
Wrought from the film of the honey-bees’ cells. 
Whilst all the time within the folds 
Of his gossamer robe he tenderly holds 
A wee, wee sprite he has snatched from the throng 
Of the folk that wait anent the bars 
Close up by the zenith’s nebulous stars. 

The path is steep and he journeys long, 

And soothes his charge with a lullaby song. 

As he wings his way to a mortal abode. 

Not that he tires of his tiny load 


27 


But with the long, long flight his wings are weary 
And he has lost his way, the roistering fairy ; 

So he leaves on the mortal’s roof his burden 
And hastes away nor waits for guerdon ; 

And when through the golden gates of dawn 
Another day of the night is born, 

Like a breath of mist he melts away, 

And the sprite in the mortal home must stay. 

And this is the greeting that March doth bring 
In the swift, sharp glint of the bluebird’s wing, 

Apast the other months of spring, 

To the fields now white with “innocence,” 

And hillsides where the beams intense 
Of the summer sun, doth wake to life 
The powers with which the earth is rife ; 

And hither each night, in the wan moonlight. 

The sister elves now wing their flight 
To watch o’er the sleep of the missing sprite, 

And peer through the lattice with the peering moon. 
Themselves unseen in the night’s high noon ; 

But when they have witnessed the boundless store 
Of love that is lavished forevermore 
On the peerless elf-child, 

To her happy lot they are reconciled ; 

And evermore in the summer night 
They sing the praises of June Delight. 

Fabius M. Ray. 


28 



A COUPLET. 

J UNE Delight, now may your name, 

Your face, your fortune, prove the same! 

Laura E. Richards. 


29 

























. 








JUNE DELIGHT. 

O F all the year the loveliest time 
Is June, “the month of roses;” 

For then Dame Nature, at her best, 

Her love for us discloses. 

She robes the earth in festal garb, 

Adorned with wealth of flowers ; 

She makes the sun shine warmly bright, 

And fills with joy the hours. 

Each year she marks this special time 
With special gifts and sweetness ; 

That we may know her generous heart 
In all its rich completeness. 

And one fair June — the best of all — 

She gave the richest treasure 
Of all her store, to bless our lives 
In over-running measure. 

She gave to us a lovely girl. 

Sweet, gentle and caressing ; 

With all June’s beauty in her face. 

And in her heart its blessing. 

Had fairies to her christening come 

They surely would have claimed her — 
She is so dear, so pure, so good — 

And “June Delight” we named her. 

Florence Percy Mclntire. 

31 


/ 












' 














TO JUNE DELIGHT. 

S PRING is coming over the meadows 
In the filtered air, and bright 
And the song of the wind in the willows 
Is a sonnet to June Delight. 

Years are coming from out of “Forever” 

From dim halls to the light 
May each sing a song that is threaded with joy 
A sonnet to June Delight. 

Frances Swan Brown. 


33 


I 


. 

f 


TO JUNE DELIGHT— 

FOR HER GARLAND. 

H ERE is a rose for her garland fair ; 

A rose and a rhyme for a dainty lass, 
Whose very name is a poem rare 
And lilts like a bobolink over the grass. 

Hark to the swing of the bubbling song, 

Cheerily carolling all the day long! 

Light, Light, June Delight, 

June, Delight of June! 

Turn it the other way, Light of June, 

Forward or backward, *tis still the same ; 

Still it trips like a dancing-tune 

And sways like a maid in a singing-game. 
Hark to the tip-a-tap come and go, 

Footing it merrily to and fro! 

Light, Light, June Delight, 

June, Delight of June! 

Nora Archibald Smith. 


35 





AN ACROSTIC. 

June days are rare days, 

Unless the poet’s wrong 
Nothing like a June day 
Every bird’s in song! 

Darling roses budding 
Everywhere 1 go 
Lingering or hurrying, 

It is always so. 

Gathering the harvest 
Has to wait till fall. 

That June is with us all the year, 
is the best of all. 

E. 


37 


. 

I ■« ' ;<li1 > fftfli 1 









TO A NAIAD. 

I N dusky calms before the storm, 

When idly sways the wheel, 

The mermaids mirror up thy form 
From depths beneath my keel. 
Whene’er the needle picks its star 
From out the midnight sky, 

It turns to thee, — it follows far 
The magnet of thy eye. 

The swirl about my prow I’ve deemed 
The ripple of thy hair 
And pillowed on the wave I’ve dreamed 
Thou art as good as fair. 

Thy voice in shells on distant strands 
Has called me o’er the sea, 

And I will search through all the lands 
Until I come to thee. 

I wait the year, I wait the day 
When I shall sight thy shore. 

Then will I anchor in thy bay, 

And steal with muffiled oar 
To find thee in the pine tree shade. 

Be then as fair. Be then as good. 

Do not into thy fountain fade, 

O Nymph of Underwood! 

Clarence Webster Peabody. 

39 


} | ,»-<#•' it 

. 


















V 

















































































A CHARADE. 

M Y first is that in which there is more rare 
No day ; when summer seas are blue 
and fair ; 

When roses blossoming are at their full ; 

And when the wanderlust begins to pull. 


My second, in a most persistent way 
Is found in the beginning of each day. 

And like the little angel that it should 
Is always at the end of every good. 

My third in quite a little different way 
Is found much oftener in every day 
But tho not near so much nor yet so bright 
A little may be found in every night. 

My whole is like my first in that she’s rare 
And like the summer’s day she’s quite as fair 
For on each day with manner sweet and bright 
She proves herself my only, June Delight. 

E. 


43 




A BIRTHDAY. 

F ROM hollows of the wood and shore 
Come every elf and every sprite 
And on this day forevermore 
Make the world fair for June Delight! 

Come, spirit of the budding rose, 

Come, larkspur fay and violet wight, 
Come, breath of every flower that blows, 

Make the world bright for June Delight! 

And come, you wind of summer gales, 

With all soft perfumes in your flight, 
When daylight dawns, when daylight fails, 
Make the world sweet for June Delight! 

Come, faith, and hope, and all things blest, 
Leaning to earth from Heaven’s height, 
Give this dear child your all, your best, 

Since June Delight is Heart’s Delight! 

Harriet Prescott Spofford , 


45 





TO JUNE. 

N OT mine, the poet’s graceful art, 

To voice my greetings true. 

A simple thought is all I send, 

Straight from my heart to you. 

Whatever shadows cross your path, 

Along life’s widening way, 
Remember this, that just beyond, 

There shines the sun-bright day. 

Ella A. Jackson. 


47 



AERIA. 

H ERE’S the place ! be wary ! 
You can never tell 
When you’ll see a fairy 
Lurking in the dell. 

Hurry! hush! now hide you 

Where you won’t be heard ; 
Fairies can’t abide you 
If you speak a word. 

Maybe they’ll be calling 
Underneath the hill ; 

When the moonlight’s falling 
Sprites are never still. 

Seems to me I heard one 
Just behind that tree 
One! two! there’s a third one 
Sure as sure can be! 

Oh! oh! oh! just listen! 

What a pretty song! 

How their spangles glisten 
When they fly along! 


49 


See the lovely green fay 

Whirling down the brook! 

That must be the queen fay 
Going to her nook. 

There! she’s drawn a curtain 
Made of moonlit mist. 

Now I know for certain 
Fairies do exist. 

Charles Francis Richardson. 


50 


LINES TO DELIGHT. 

I KNOW the dearest little maid, 

She’s such a dainty little sprite ; 

It matters not how she’s arrayed 
For she’s her father’s sweet Delight. 

And I can see her, sweet sixteen, 

With modish gown and stately height, 
With lovers round her then, I ween, — 

But still her father’s sweet Delight. 

\ 

And now I see her as a wife, 

Her eyes, her mother’s are, so bright ; 
And tho’ gone from my daily life, 

She’s still her father’s sweet Delight. 

A mother, next, I see her, tho* 

She’s still my little girl, so slight ; 

And if the baby claims her so, — 

It matters not. She’s my Delight! 

And last, this time my visions dim — 

Her grandchildren — a pretty sight! 

With tears will your eyes sometimes brim 
In memory, my sweet Delight? 

E. 


51 






















APPENDIX 





GRATITUDE. 

June Delight’s First Poem. 

Written by her at the age of eleven years. 

T HE peony bent her beautiful head 

Because a maid passing by had said, 
“Oh, what an awfully homely flower! 

I always did hate that color of red, 

And there it is in those beautiful bowers, 
Spoiling the looks of the other flowers.” 

Down lower and lower the lovely head bent 
Till it touched the ground, so far it went, 
When a little child came dancing by, 

“Oh, what a glorious, wonderful flower!” 
The little girl cried, as she knelt in the bower. 
Up came the head with a happy cry. 

So glad was she that the child went by! 


55 




*mf| r»f4k» n# }>> v>< 




t »J ° 

Vc 4 * 





INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 


Aross the east the streaks of light appear 

Lura E. Aldridge 

Dear June Delight : Your father and mother gave 
you Kate Douglas Wiggin 

Down in the meadow fragrant and fair 

Henry Leland Chapman 
Eager through windy skies 

Harry Lyman Koopman 
Ere Spring’s soft garments vanish o’er the hill top 

Edith Lowell 

From hollows of the wood and shore 

Harriet Prescott Spofford 
Here is a rose for her garland fair 

Nora Archibald Smith 
Here’s the place! be wary! 

Charles Francis Richardson 
I know the dearest little maid 

George Thornton Edwards 
In dusky calms before the storm 

Clarence Webster Peabody 
In my house is a garden fair 

Carol Content Edwards 

June days are rare days 

George Thornton Edwards 

June Delight, now may your name 

Laura E. Richards 


PAGE. 

13 

xxi 

9 

21 

19 

45 

35 

49 

51 

39 

25 

37 

29 


57 


PAGE. 


My calendar gives thirty days of June 

Charles E. Jackson 

My first is that in which there is more rare 

George Thornton Edwards 
Not mine, the poet’s graceful art 

Ella A. Jackson 

Of all the year the loveliest time is June 

Florence Percy Mclntire 
Oh list to the greeting that March sends up 

Fabius M. Ray 

Our baby has the longest name 

George Thornton Edwards 
Spring is coming over the meadows 

Frances Swan Brown 
The night had been dark and fraught with pain 
George Thornton Edwards 
Where drowsy willows nod and sigh 

James Phinney Baxter 


17 

43 

47 

31 

27 

15 

33 

7 

11 


58 


TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY NUMBERED COPIES 
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OF WHICH THE ILLUSTRATIONS HAVE BEEN 
COLORED BY HAND BY CAROL CONTENT ED- 
WARDS AND THE TYPE THEN DISTRIBUTED. 

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